


Give an Inch

by rosierey



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Choking, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 05, Prostate Massage, Rough Oral Sex, Subdrop, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosierey/pseuds/rosierey
Summary: Suddenly there are lips against his cheek and Nacho eyelids snap shut. "I don't think you know what you're getting into... Oh, Nachito."
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	1. Bloody Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta-ed so sorry for any mistakes etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started out as pwp and i accidentally added plot so i apologise, hope u enjoy tho.

"So that's it?"

"That's it. I let them in and I ran."

Undercover of darkness they stand six feet apart in the abandoned construction site, shadows cast long and wide by distant highway lights. Nacho watches Michael consider his words. The man never gives himself way, his face a closed book, endlessly frustrating. But Nacho is patient, he waits with folded arms until Michael comes to his decision.

"Okay," he says at last.

"So it's over?" Nacho asks, stepping forward as Michael turns back to his car. "You said once Lalo was dealt with-"

"Fring isn't letting you go."

Foreboding washes over Nacho and he breaths in sharply. "You said-"

"I said I'd see what I could do," Michael interjects in his commanding tone. "You're in, Nacho. Did you really think Fring would let you go? He can control the Salamanca territory through you, he's not gonna let a valuable pawn go."

"I did everything he asked," Nacho croaks, pressing his thumbs into his eyes and feeling them sting. "It was supposed to be over."

"Sorry, kid-" Michael replies flatly. "-But I think you knew, deep down, it wouldn't be that easy."

Nacho watches him walk away, get in his car and drive off into the dark. Two pin-pricks of red light blink out and he closes his eyes watching them dance in the darkness. Anger and fear sit like oil on water in his stomach making him feel sick. Echoes of gunfire ring in his head, far off behind a concrete wall where he'd left Lalo to die. All that blood, sweat and tears for this. A zero sum. His father; still in danger, himself; still under the thumb of a drug-lord with no leverage.

As he drives he passes exit after exit, each beckoning him, and yet like a needle to true north he drives to his fathers house. He parks across the street and watches the bungalow, dark and quiet. Memories of childhood pass through his mind like a warm breeze- his mother's smile, playing on the street in summer, sneaking cigarettes with Domingo through his bedroom window.

He presses his fingers into the scar on his shoulder where metal floats among muscle. It conjures his fathers heartbroken face; accepting Hector's money, hanging up on 911. All because of him. He puts the car in gear and drives.

Just three days have passed since running from Lalo's compound but Nacho is still exhausted. Every time he lays down to sleep- alone or with one of the girls- he hears Lalo talking or hears the crackle of ghostly flames. Inevitably he'll get up, go and watch television or drink on the patio until he passes out with the sunrise. His phone will wake him and so the day will begin, back to running a drug-ring in the name of a family he betrayed.

Michael meets him once more on the fifth day, accompanied by Fring who watches him sternly. He asks Nacho to retell his story of the compound like he's trying to find a hole in the tale. Nacho tells it without hesitating. It's funny how easily lying through his teeth is now, that telling the truth feels like more of a lie.

"What's this about?" He asks once he's finished, glancing between the two men who stare a look.

"The team who took Lalo out," Michael answers. "We haven't heard from them since the team leader confirmed the kill."

Dread seeps in like blood on cotton. "So? Isn't that how these things go? They do the job and disappear."

"Radio silence isn't unusual-" Michael looks at Fring as if they've had this discussion already. "-However... In this instance it might be something."

"Something," Nacho repeats in disbelief.

"Or nothing."

That night Nacho places his spare gun under his pillow and leaves it there. He sleeps no more than two or three hours a night and starts seeing glimpses of Lalo's reflection in the mirror. Lalo had been right; thinking is easier at night. Everything flows more smoothly without the interruptions from other people, other senses. In the night it's him and the dark and he has time to plan... Amber and Jo offers narcotic solutions but he declines even though booze gives him a headache the morning after.

Fring makes no requests or changes that week, perhaps waiting for the dust to settle. It leaves Nacho on edge, teetering on a knife edge of losing his mind. He doesn't muster up the courage to see his father, but Domingo drops by every other day to check on him. He never tells him more than 'he's okay', Nacho never says thank you.

Four days after meeting with Michael and Fring- nine since running from Mexico- the inevitable happens.

On the worst nights, where it isn't just the inability to sleep that keeps Nacho up but bad dreams, he takes to driving. Driving through the city or on the highway at night lets his mind wander away from his worries and into a space where all that exists is him and the road. With the windows rolled down cool air wipes through his clothes and makes goosebumps rise on his arms. It's refreshing, better than lingering in a house that doesn't feel like home with only his thoughts and drugged girls for company.

That night Nacho wakes in a cold sweat. He kicks away the sheets tangled in his legs and staggers to the bathroom. The television echoes through the empty house, a perpetual noise but better than silence. Nacho drinks from the tap and splashes his face, meeting his haunted gaze in the mirror. Quietly, he dresses and gathers his keys.

Outside the night sky yawns wide open above, a void of blackness that eases Nacho's mind. Claustrophobia isn't something he suffers from but there is a certain relief to leaving the stifling indoors like pressure released from a valve.

Nacho takes the ring-road out of town before circling back and taking the road through the middle of town. Streetlights glisten on windows and draw lines behind Nacho's eyes. It's the same road he takes to go to the restaurant and he absently seeks it up ahead on the left. Then his heart stops. The lights are on in the back. The owner, Jesus, closes up at 5 p.m. everyday and lives across town.

For a moment Nacho contemplate what kind of dumbass burglar switches the lights on. Then he realises whoever is in there wants to be seen. Whoever it is knows that they have men watching the place and the lights coming on will be reported to Domingo who will call Nacho. As he slows the car, his heart beat speeds up. He could keep driving, he could drive until he reaches the highway and then drive on until the desert becomes ocean. He pulls in.

The front door is open when he pushes it cautiously. Before it can sound off he reaches up and grips the bell overhead, easing the door past it. The silence is oppressive when he closes it behind him, waiting in the doorway. Light from the kitchen casts long shadows over the dining area. Nacho knows he could draw his gun, there's still time, but something stops him. A lack of self-preservation or acceptance of the inevitable: he's going to die tonight.

"Didn't take you to be one so paranoid, Ignacio."

At his usual table- hidden by the dark- Lalo sits with his legs thrown up, ankles crossed. Nacho can only see his shape as he moves to stand and come around the table, an imposing mass of shadow. He steps into a shaft of light and there's a chilling emptiness on his face. Yet, even frozen under the imperious gaze, Nacho doesn't shake.

"I think I have reason to be," he replies hoarsely and Lalo cracks a smile. His head spins with questions- did Michael know and has left him to die? How could Lalo have lived through the attack? How much does he know? More and more cry out in his mind until they all go silent at the click of a safety going off. The smooth metal of the firearm shines in the streetlight. Slowly, Nacho raises his hands.

"If you're gonna kill me just do it already," Nacho says, looking between the gun and Lalo's shadowed face.

Lalo chuckles, then gestures with the gun. "On your knees." He hesitates for a moment then goes down, resting on his heels. Lalo walks around him and the gun is tugged out of his belt. The last glimmer of hope fizzles out. "you betrayed me, Ignacio. Left me to die."

Lalo drags a chair over, legs squealing against the floor. He sits, feet spread and gun resting on his knee. The lines on his forehead deepen as he raises his eyebrows expectantly. When Nacho doesn't speak he says, "they killed everyone. Yolanda, Ciro... All dead."

Bile rises in Nacho's throat, he should've know Fring would never do it cleanly. "I had to," he breathes. Lalo leans forward, shadow looming over Nacho like a specter.

"I was going to give you money, a position of power. The right arm of the Salamanca's in New Mexico and you throw it aside for what? Promise from a Chilean shit-bag?" Lalo inches closer. "What was he going to give you? Territory of your own?"

"He didn't-"

"What's that?" Lalo's eyes are manic, full of warning- telling him to choose his words carefully.

"They had my father, they were gonna kill him if I didn't do what they wanted," Nacho croaks. "He's my only family."

"Only family?" Lalo sits back in his chair and chuckles bitterly. "You were gonna be one of us, a Salamanca, we treated you like family. Tuco loves you like a brother, man."

That thought alone is surreal enough to make Nacho laugh but he swallows it down. These Salamanca's and their delusions. He stays quiet, eyes locked on Lalo's patterned shirt so he doesn't meet his eyes. His lie-detector works on him better than Tuco's, maybe because Tuco's is induced by paranoid mania whereas Lalo's is menacing. Calculating.

"What else?"

"What?"

"What else did you do for Fring? Did you know who Michael was?"

Nacho closes his eyes and exhales carefully. "I told him what Domingo told the DEA, some other things. He never interfered until Chihuahua. Michael was the guy I met with but I didn't know it was him."

"And my tio?"

His heart skips a beat. He lifts his gaze and sees Lalo watching him, fire in his eyes.

"Hector?"

"His stroke, taking him out of the game. Did Fring have something to do with it?" Lalo asks. Something snaps and Lalo stands suddenly. A boot connects with Nacho's shoulder, sending him toppling back onto the floor. The wind is knocks out of him by Lalo's weight and then there's cool metal of the pistol is pressed under his jaw. Nacho grabs at him, fingers curling into Lalo's upper arm. He doesn't try to escape just breaths heavily and let's Lalo tip his head back with the barrel.

"I know he hates Tio for killing his little boyfriend. They were Don Eladio's orders but Hector pulled the trigger," Lalo leans in close and Nacho suddenly sees the resemblance between him and Tuco. "What did he do? Poison him? Change his pills? Why would he save his life if he wanted him dead, hm?"

"I don't know, I don't know anything about that. Please," Nacho hears himself whisper, tears building behind his eyes from sheer frustration. "You can do anything to me just don't hurt my father."

The pressure on his jaw eases just a little. "You could've come to me," Lalo mutters, almost sounding hurt. "but instead you let Fring manipulate you. You're weaker than I thought."

"They were gonna kill him," he repeats brokenly. Lalo stares. "I couldn't see a way out. I didn't want you dead. I was just telling them things, but then they called and- I never wanted you dead, I had no choice." The hand braced above his head slaps against the lino and makes him flinch.

"You betray me, and I should believe anything you say? No, no, there's a reason you didn't tell me they were blackmailing you. Because you wanted this," Lalo spits, teeth bared like the predator he is. Nacho stares at them, white and pristine. "Why wouldn't you want me dead? I'm in the way. Little Ignatio trying to make it to the top, hm? Fring gets rid of me and lets you run things. Why wouldn't you. Want me. Dead?"

Lalo's eyes flickered between his and Nacho sees how much he truly wants an answer. The man can sense lies before they pass from any man's lips, Nacho searches frantically for a good answer. This might be his only chance to survive. For his father, for one last chance at freedom. If he speaks, Lalo will hear the false notes of his answer. Instead Nacho glances down at his curled lip and steels himself. Without a second thought he closes the gap between them and kisses Lalo.

It's more of a bite than a kiss but, to Nacho's relief, Lalo bites back. The taste of copper blooms on his tongue and he winces. The kiss is over in less than a minute but Nacho's head spins in a rush of exhilaration. It's exactly how he imagined Lalo would kiss; wild and enthusiastic, toe-curling good. His head hits the floor and he blinks dazedly, waiting for Lalo's reaction. There is surprise on his face for a fleeting moment then it morphs into amusement, mouth spreading into a cruel, red toothed smile.

The gun against his jaw disappears and Nacho has a moment of relief before it's replaced with Lalo's wide palm on his throat. Fingers flex against his pulse and Nacho swallows, tipping his chin back. Lalo watches him with narrowed eyes, tonguing at the smear of blood on his bottom lip.

"You expect to believe _that_," Lalo says, voice dangerously quiet but rough.

"It's the truth." He shifts a little, finding it harder to catch a full breath of air as Lalo slowly applies pressure. He licks his lips and uses his minuscule amount on leverage to press his hips against Lalo's ass. Lalo's thighs tense either side of him so he stills, waiting. Hoping. It's a dangerous game he's playing, one he thought of trying when Fring first asked him to get close so it isn't wholly lying. It had felt drastic then, but now...

Lalo sneers. "So I should spare you because you want to suck my cock?" Nacho grabs onto the wrist of the hand around his neck as they squeeze tighter with malicious intent. The rings dig into his skin. Lalo's palms are searing hot, branding him with bruises. He chokes on air, foamy spit on his dry lips. 

"Double-agent," Nacho croaks. "I can- they don't know you're here yet, I can help. I just want my father safe."

For a moment he thinks that it's over and panic finally seizes him. He tries to speak, tries to find more words in the haze, lips moving like a fish in water. There's a hiss of metal on plastic as Lalo tosses the gun aside. He slaps Nacho's hand out of the way as he tries to block him from taking Nacho's throat with both hand. There's a perversely curious look on Lalo's face as Nacho struggles under him like he's taking his time to muse as Nacho loses air. The twisted face above him fading around the edges, then suddenly the hands ease just a faction and he coughs violently.

"You can get your revenge," he slurs.

"Man of few words but you have an answer to everything, Ignacio." There's thoughtfulness to his tone. Curls stick to his wrinkled brow, wet with sweat, as he looks over Nacho. He feels like one of the dishes Lalo cooks up or a baggy of coke; inspected for quality. "Bad-ass... Smart-ass..." 

One hand slides down his chest and dips under the hem of his t-shirt. Nacho's stomach tenses under the probing fingers, he glances down to watch Lalo push his shirt up his chest. Lalo makes a face as if to say 'not bad' then meets Nacho's eyes and grins. His nails dig into the skin below Nachos peck and wrack down to his navel making red line blossom in their wake.

Suddenly there are lips against his cheek and Nacho eyelids snap shut. "I don't think you know what you're getting into... Oh, Nachito." Sharp teeth sink into his lip and Nacho can't help the pained noise from escaping, but it seems to delight Lalo. He bites and sucks until Nacho's lip is numb and fat, blood from Lalo's own making him gag. When he can't feel his mouth anymore Lalo leans back and inspects his handy work. Seeming satisfied, his attention shifts.

Nacho shudders as he jeans are undone, zipper rasping loudly in the quiet between them. Anticipation and fear coil in his gut, he'd been half-hard since the first kiss. Lalo moves just a little to drag them out the way, settling down again with a whistle. "Ay, Ignacio, you're packing..." Lalo runs his thumb from root to tip, smearing over the wet head and making him throb. He gasps in surprise, eyelids fluttering closed. 

Lalo makes a appreciative noise and Nacho hears the metallic click of a belt buckle. He reaches out blindly but Lalo hisses at him, hand on his neck pressing hard in warning. Nacho blinks, vision blurry and can't decide if he wants to look or turn away. In the end he doesn't have to choose: Lalo tilts his hips forcing more weight on his throat and pining Nacho's head in place. There's the electric sensation of another hard cock sliding against his and Nacho arcs into it even as he gasps for air. 

"Look at you..." 

Fingers slide, gathering them both in Lalo's hand, squeezing a little experimentally. Lalo muffles a groan as he starts dragging his fist over their cocks. Nacho squirms both trying to get away and get closer, burning under his touch. The strokes come faster each time, harder too, and Nacho feels light headed. He looks at Lalo's blurry face, his parted lips and manic eyes filled with a different kind of fire. It makes him feel like a moth to a flame. 

"You're practically begging for it."

The heat pools in his gut, burning up the curve of his spine, too much and not enough. Lalo's rhythm becomes erratic as tension builds. His focus slips and the pressure eases, letting Nacho gasp and shudder. It feels wrong suddenly, like he's floating away without Lalo holding him down. He swallows, holding his gaze as he slides his palm down Lalo's wrist to cover his hand. He presses and Lalo smiles, open mouthed and hungry. Nacho closes his eyes and tips his head back, sinking into the floating sensation as Lalo takes his breath away again. Their fingers interlaced over his throat.

"Ignacio-" The thighs around his hips squeeze and Nacho feels himself on the edge until Lalo's thumb digs right under the head of his cock. Nacho chokes and comes, bucking against him and painting his abs. Suddenly air fills his lungs and he gasps, convulsing and gripping Lalo's jeans for some kind of anchor. He hears Lalo laugh- high and drunk- sees him arc and shudder, feels the come hit his stomach. 

The air is filled with their heavy breaths. Nacho blinks spots out of his eyes and realises there are tears on his cheek. His neck feels like one big bruise but it's muted by the rush of endorphin coursing through him. He realises his hands are still gripping Lalo's thighs and lets go. Maybe there will be bruises on Lalo too. 

"Dios, it's been a while," Lalo mutters, curling and uncurling his fist. He peers at his other, stickier, hand then presses two fingers to Nacho's lips. For a moment he resists then opens his mouth and lets them in, salty tang spreading onto his numb tongue. 

"You're mine, Ignacio. You try to run- send your father away- I'll find you, you know I will. You'll die and so will your papi-" he pulls his fingers out then leans in and kisses him, horribly gentle and slow like a lover. Nacho hates how he gives into it, parting his lips easily and chasing the tenderness.

Then Lalo stands smoothly and Nacho shivers, fighting the urge to curl up into himself. "You tried to use me, now I use you-" Lalo looks at him coolly, buckling his belt. "-my very own double-agent, ay? Get some rest. Big things to come."

Nacho stares at the ceiling as he listens to Lalo's footsteps and the jangle of the bell above the entrance. There's a pause then Lalo adds, "oh, you can lock up, right? Right. Night, Nachito!" 

The doors closes. Minutes pass before he tries to move, sitting up with his hands. Everything aches now, radiating from his neck and back. Without looking Nacho tucks himself away tenderly and tugs his t-shirt down. It sticks to his chest uncomfortably and makes him grimace. When he stands he's instantly hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea and has to lean heavily on a nearby chair.

He's alive. His father is alive. That hits him first and almost makes him smile. Then he tastes the blood and come on his tongue. He had to do it. He had to survive, like he has all the other Salamanca's. Nacho props himself up on the table-top, covering his face with both hands. He wanted to do it too. For weeks he had been haunted by that undeniable feeling of want and fear that Lalo's presence awakened in him. A fresh wave of nausea and shame hits him and he groans into his palms. 

The car ride home feels surreal like he's not entirely in his own body, watching his hands on the wheel. When he gets there the lights are off and television is playing some housewives rerun. Amber and Jo are unconscious on the couches lit by the screen and dead to the world. He mutes the t.v. and goes upstairs. 

The bathroom light makes Nacho wince, and he feels blindly for the shower dial. As the water warms he strips, wincing at the t-shirt peeling off his stomach. He leans against the sink for a moment, gut twisting uncomfortably. He steels himself and looks in the mirror, swallowing at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and the ring of bruises below his jaw. The colors will darken overnight into an even uglier mess, he's seen if before (for very different reasons than his own).

Nacho looks away and steps into the cubicle, water pouring over him soothingly. He leans against the cool tiles on his forearms, hanging his head and letting the stream pound the tender skin. All the complications- the betrayals Lalo doesn't know about, double-crossing Fring and Michael- settle over him, weighing him down. He folds onto the shower floor.

Nacho draws his knees up, rests his cheek on his arms crossed over his knees. He doesn't cry. Hasn't cried in a long time. His eyes have watered and glazed, burned and stung, but tears never escaped. Not until Lalo wrapped his hands around his throat. Now, though, Nacho stares at the droplets chasing each other down the glass and doesn't cry.


	2. Two Way Street

In the shade of the abandoned factory Nacho leans against the bonnet of his car, waiting. The headache he woke up with is lingering at the back of his skull and he hides from the sunlight behind sunglasses. They hide his bloodshot eyes but do nothing to distract from the mottled skin of his throat. Amber had broken a cup on the kitchen floor in shock when she'd seen. They'd helped him try and cover it with a bunch of different make-up. It helped with the worst of it but there is still an obvious palm shaped bruising. His voice sounds about as wrecked as the rest of him feels, sore and exhausted.

The rumble of an engine draws him from his stupor as Michael arrives. He fiddles with the poker chip, anxiety bubbling up. Michael gets out, cool and collected as ever. His eyes fall to the collar of Nacho's shirt he'd buttoned up to cover some of the evidence. Clearly it wasn't worth trying.

"Hell Happened to you?" Michael asks gruffly.

"Girlfriend. We had a fight." It's a weak lie but Nacho looks him in the eye when he answers. "What'd you wanna talk about?" Michael had called that morning with a time and a place and no explanation. That's how things seem to work with Fring.

"Uh-huh... Lalo Salamanca is alive."

"What?" Nacho palms his sweaty forehead. He's always been good at lying but this makes him feel sick, like Lalo's fist has a death grip on his stomach. "How?"

"Doesn't matter how, what does is what his next move will be. He'll know you opened the door for Fring's men."

"So he'll be coming for me next."

"Maybe. You might be second on his list. Either way Fring wants to bring you in."

"No." He knows what that means, if he comes in he'll never get out again. "I'll deal with it."

"You'll..." Michael pauses, turning his head a little like he's angling his ear to hear better. "You'll 'deal with it'?"

"Look, man, you- you couldn't help me before, and Fring has no intention of helping me either, we both know it-" Nacho shrugs. "-I'd rather take my chances out here. And still keep an eye on my father."

"You can't protect him," Michael replies tiredly.

"That's all I've been doing," Nacho spits, then takes a shaky breath. "If I hear anything, I'll call."

"Uh-huh, or I'll just wait for the article about your father's place shop being burnt down- two bodies, no survivors?"

Nacho shakes his head, resisting the urge to rub his face. "Whatever." He turns away, swallowing bile, and opens the drivers door.

"You'll be hearing from Fring soon. He won't be pleased."

Nacho doesn't bother replying, getting in and slamming the door a little hard behind him. He returns Michael's stare until the old man turns and gets into his car too, pulling back and driving in a wide arc out of the yard. The leather of the steering wheel protests under his grip as he tightens it. With deep breaths Nacho tries to calm the roiling sensation in his stomach but he loses the battle. He manages to open the door wide before he throws up, mostly bile and half-digested breakfast. The sunglasses fall off into the mess.

"Fuck," he chokes, spitting bile then sitting up. Eventually his head stops spinning and he starts the car with trembling fingers. So Fring knows. Which means he's going to run out of time faster than he thought. He had thought Michael might be an option, he seemed sympathetic to Nacho's plight but... He still is one of Fring's men.

Driving calms him a little more until his phone starts ringing and Lalo's number appears on the screen. He glances between it and the road, wondering if he could get away with not answering. But the taste in his mouth reminds him not to risk it, not now.

"Yeah?"

"Where are your manners, Nachito?" Lalo says with admonishment dramatically. "Good afternoon to you to, yes I slept great, thank you for asking. How did you sleep, hm?"

"Fine," Nacho lies. "I just saw Michael."

"Oh? How is the old gringo?"

"They still don't know you're alive, but I don't think that'll last much longer."

"Mm, no... Anything else?"

Nacho hesitates, searching. "Fring... wants me doing the pick ups still. Alone. Think so he can personally get updates." It'll give him a window, a few more days to plan and then half a day- maybe more- to do it.

"You said yes? Better not to raise suspicious."

"I said yes."

"Good boy," Lalo sighs, actually sounding haggard for a moment but when he speaks again it's breezy. "Come over, I'll make you dinner."

"I- have some things to do."

"Bah, I'm sure they can wait, right? For me?" Lalo simpers, mockery in his voice that grates Nacho's nerves.

"I'll be there in an hour."

"Okay! See you soon." Lalo hangs up and Nacho throws the phone into the passenger seat angrily. Suddenly driving isn't so soothing, Nacho presses his toe against the accelerator and listens to the engine roar. After last night he doesn't know what to expect from Lalo. He knows he should be dead, Lalo shouldn't have spared him so easily (easily?) so there must be a reason.

Without noticing he runs his tongue over the cut on his lip. A cut made by Lalo's teeth when he kissed him. The memory makes him shift in his seat, a terrible hum of desire twisting up his spine like sinister vines making root in his mind. He hadn't felt something that intense before in his life, all that fear fueling that desire until it felt out of control. Yet, Lalo had controlled it. With two hands he kept Nacho on the brink and didn't let him go. It wouldn't be a stretch to say it was the best sex of his life and it had been with a murderous psycho ten seconds from killing him. There is something very wrong with him.

As the sun begins to droop in the sky, he arrives at Lalo's hide-out (a flat belonging to one of the lower level dealers which he must have co-opted upon arrival). There are lights on, a beacon beckoning him onward. The back of his neck prickles as he numbly goes to the front door and knocks, looking up and down the street furtively to try and dispel the paranoia.

The door opens- without the scrape of a lock or chain- and Lalo swings it wide, beaming at Nacho. "You took your time, c'mon inside. I'm making tacos." Nacho has a momentary feeling of whiplash, remembering their first meeting in the kitchen. Like then, his sleeves are rolled up to below the elbow, forearms distractingly on show. Lalo sweeps his arm open and steps aside to let Nacho enter.

He follows Lalo to the kitchen where something sizzles in a pan and a radio plays loudly. On one surface a chopping board is scattered with the remnants of vegetables and a black handled kitchen knife. Nacho's eyes linger on it before shifting to the much more concerning- or tempting- gun left with deliberate carelessness on top of two magazines like a paperweight.

"Here-" Lalo appears in front of him with a glass of deep red wine. Nacho stares at it in surprise, they'd only ever shared a beer (and milkshakes on their memorable visit to Fring's). "-It's a good vintage, probably." Lalo says, raising it under Nacho's nose. Nacho begrudgingly takes it but doesn't drink. "Thought it was a night that called for wine. Though the shit this guy had in the fridge was... well, he had it in the fridge, y'know. So I picked this out." He's in an unnervingly good mood, not that that's unusual for this particular Salamanca. Nonetheless it puts Nacho on edge, expecting some kind of outburst or trap.

He pretends to sip the wine and watches him in the kitchen, moving fluidly to the music on the stereo nearby as he fiddles with pans on the stove. The silk maroon shirt slides over his shoulders and Nacho stares at the shift muscles underneath. It's a nice shirt. Nacho turns and puts the wine down, leaning heavily on the counter as he exhales slowly and tries to establish a game-plan.

For this all to work out he has to be patient. Tolerate Lalo's mind-games, resist the appeal of giving in and confessing. Let Lalo give him a death, swift or bloody, cruel or kind- either way it'll be over. But then he thinks of his father, his mother touching his cheek and telling him 'take care of him, you know what he's like'. Behind him Lalo is singing aimlessly. Nacho turns around and crosses his arms like it'll quiet the pounding of his heart.

"You don't dance, Ignacio?" Lalo calls instead of turning the music down. Nacho sighs heavily, curling his fist hidden under his bicep. Two feet to his left sits the gun, the same distance at an angle the kitchen knife. Lalo shows him his back like... like he doesn't care? Doesn't have a single worry about being alone in a kitchen with Nacho? Lalo turns to him and Nacho eases the tension from his face. 

"It's a shame you've got the hips for it, no?" It's posed as a question they both know he won't answer. Nonetheless Lalo slithers over until he's in Nacho's face. Nacho hates having to tilt his head to look at him, glares at his shoulder before conceding and looking up. Lalo looks pleased, as always, a touch of mania in his dark eyes. Hands lightly touch his hips. It'd seem shy if it weren't for his confident smile. No, it's more like someone trying to catch a spooked animal, moving slowly so they fall into the trap with resisting.

"Why am I here?" Nacho asks quietly, although he knows the answer. Lalo hums, knowing he knows, thumbs digging into his hipbones. "You make me dinner, give me booze-"

"Ask you to dance," Lalo inserts, a sing-song to his voice, making Nacho's hips sway with his hands. It makes him tense up more, looking away.

"You don't need to do all this."

"But I like to, don't you like it?" 

Nacho feels too sick to eat, the smell of cooking mince makes his stomach ache where the beer has settled wrongly. He wants to get it over with, or maybe it's the anticipation that's getting to him. He takes Lalo's left hand from his hip, dragging it up his chest to his throat. The music sounds far away now, buried under his pulse as he settles Lalo's fingers over it. His adam's apple drags against the ball of his thumb as he swallows. 

"Is that what you think this is?" Lalo asks lowly. His fingers knead at Nacho's neck, barely any pressure at all but enough to make his skin hot. "You think this is your punishment? How you gain absolution? Oh, Nachito..." Lalo sighs softly like he truly pities him and it makes Nacho's hackles rise. Then Lalo kisses him slowly, coaxing Nacho's lips apart, tongue curling against his.

Nacho exhales shakily, touching Lalo's side feeling the silk shift. The thumb beneath his jaw rubs against the thin skin and he shivers. Too soon, Lalo pulls away and Nacho leans back against the wall dizzily. "It's not that easy. This is the good part, Ignacio, Everything else is going to hurt so much worse, but this, you get. This is your reward."

The last word terrifies him but makes his blood run hotter, makes his lean in. Lalo licks his lips, chest pressing against his, heavy and warm. "Go to the bedroom. Down the hall on the left."

"What about dinner?" Nacho croaks watching the amusement dance in Lalo's eyes.

"It can wait, we can work up an appetite," he answers with a grin, giving Nacho's hip a playful slap. Lalo goes back to the stove as Nacho peels himself away from the wall and follows his directions.

A lamp is on by the bedside casting the room in yellow tones. The bed sits in the middle of the room, king-size with neat, deep-green sheets. Reward. He stands at the foot of it and stares at the pillows. Even through the resentment and confusion he's half-hard.

"Nice, right?" 

He turns to Lalo leaning against the door frame, one hand in his pocket and a beer in the other, looking expectant. Nacho doesn't say anything, but drops his gaze in supplication. His shoes are gone, bare feet crossed at the ankle, Nacho finds it unnervingly attractive.

"Take off your clothes." His pulse jumps. There's no question in Lalo's gaze, only that fire that draws him in. 

Nacho turns to him fully, letting him look his fill. After a moment he kicks his boots off and tucks the socks into them, freeing his feet too. Toe to naked toe, it feels strangely intimate and he resists curling them into the soft carpet. Instead he plucks the buttons of his shirt open, glancing at Lalo as he does. A smile curls at Lalo's lips as he takes a sip of beer, eyes not leaving him once. 

He's stripping for a man who might kill him soon, Nacho realises. Will use him and dispose of him. He drops the shirt from his shoulders and lets it pool on the ground, casting his vest down with it. Lalo hums appreciatively. Nacho ignores him, going for the buttons of his jeans but suddenly two fingers tuck into a belt-loop and tug. He staggers a step forward into Lalo's space, who'd crossed the room silently. 

"Let me," Lalo murmurs. Without looking away from Nacho's jeans, he reaches behind him and puts the beer down on the dresser. His lips touch Nacho's jaw and he shivers, closing his eyes and feeling them glide over his pulse. His jeans are tugged open and as Lalo pushes them down he kneels with them. 

Nacho freezes in surprise, staring at the grey strands in Lalo's hair. Lalo grips his hips hard and hums again, staring at the scar on Nacho's hip. "Lies on lies on lies, Nachito, it's a wonder you have them all straight in your head." He licks over the pale skin then bites. Nacho inhales sharply, hand grabbing at Lalo's hair but not pulling him away. When Lalo does draw back there are red indents around the scar. 

"Tus moretones." Lalo mouths at his other hipbone, tongue dipping into the crease of his thigh. "All day I sat inside this fuckin' house, thinking about your neck. Mi cuello." He bites again, parallel to the other. Nacho pants and digs his nails into Lalo's scalp, hears him groan enthusiastically. Then blissful warm wet heat envelop his achingly hard cock and he gasps.

Lalo sucks him like he is starving for it, holding him steady and moaning around him. Nacho is sure his knees will give out any moment. It always felt like he was the one in control when girls did this in the past, but he feels entirely at Lalo's mercy. He runs his fingers through Lalo's hair to his neck, fighting the urge to take a punishing hold and just take.

Lalo pulls off with one long lick, standing and smiling as he pushes Nacho back onto the bed. He catches himself on his forearms, trying to calm his racing heart. Last time the lack of oxygen had blurred the edges of everything, pined him down between Lalo's scorching hands branding him. Now he can see and feel everything; the cool sheets on his feverish bare skin, the dark eyes fixed on him.

"My turn," Lalo murmurs. The familiar clink of belt pulled through buckle makes Nacho's cock throb with anticipation, it's almost embarrassing. He twitches as Lalo unbuttons his shirt and drops it like Nacho did, showing off. Most encounters with other men he's had were blurry, hurried and anonymous. Open flies, half unbuttoned shirts, hidden in a bathroom stall or by the darkness of an alleyway. It makes him tense as Lalo drops his pants too, naked and golden in the yellow light. All Nacho can do is stare at his broad chest, afraid to let his eyes wander south. He's never been allowed to take in the full masculinity of the bodies against him until now.

He only gives in and looks when Lalo kneels on the bed, pushing Nacho's calves up and apart to make room. He had felt that cock squeezed up against his own, hot and heavy but looking at it suddenly makes it more real. Lalo's hands slide up his thighs, his chest, briefly catching on his throat and making Nacho's breath hitch. They settle either side of his head on the mattress. He kisses him, hungry but slow, forcing Nacho to lay flat on his back.

It's so easy to get lost in the sensation, everything else narrowing like tunnel vision becoming far away. He gets absorbed by the scrap of teeth, burn of facial hair against his top lip. "You've never been fucked by a man, Ignacio?" Lalo breaths hot against his mouth. Nacho curls his hands into the sheet, tension seeping back in even as Lalo continues to kiss down his neck. He'd never let himself be in such a vulnerable position, especially with strangers he'd met less than an hour ago.

"No."

Lalo hums and Nacho hates how pleased he sounds. "I'll show you."

"I don't-" Nacho hesitates, arcing into Lalo's mouth as it bites around his nipple. What is he supposed to say; 'I don't think I'll like it'? Yet, the idea of it makes him dizzy, makes his cock leak on his hip.

"It'll be good, I'll go slowly." He reaches past Nacho's head under a pillow, dragging out lube and condoms, leaving them in Nacho's peripheral. "You'll be begging me for it."

Nacho hears the wet sound of lube squeezing through foil and squeezes his eyes shut. Lalo pushes his thighs further apart and suddenly there are cold, wet fingers against his hole. A weak noise escapes him before he can stop it, squirming against the slow press.

"Relax, Nachito, you've heard of a prostate haven't you?" Nacho snorts derisively and Lalo grins up at him from his navel. "I'll show you, just breathe."

As he exhales Lalo's finger slides home, and it's a strange but painless invasion. It takes a moment to adjust, his feet slide on the sheets as Nacho shifts. Lalo moves with him patient and watching like a hawk. Then his fingers draws back and Nacho's inside resist like he's trying to keep him there. He presses in and out, over and over until there's almost no resistance.

Lalo curses softly and shifts, hooking Nacho's legs over his thighs. Two fingers press in this time, more uncomfortable but somehow good enough to make Nacho part his lips in a shuddering breath. For a while it's the same push and pull as before, but then Lalo presses in with searching fingers. His pads find their target and sparks fly up Nacho's spine.

"There it is. Good, right? Look at how your shaking." Lalo leans in a little and those fingers return, but this time they press and massage the gland until Nacho gasps then groans, painful pleasure radiating up his spine. Lalo stops, fingers moving away then presses again, a little longer. He twists, but can't get away with Lalo between his legs, and one of his own caught in the crook of Lalo's arm. "Feel it, yet?"

"Yes," Nacho gasps and Lalo growls, teeth digging into the inside of his thigh keeping him wide open. The fingers shift and press, stroking firmly and unrelentingly until Nacho is trembling. It feels wrong, so good but searing, making his hips corkscrew- maybe for relief maybe for more. His cock aches, pulsing pre all over his quivering stomach.

He reaches out with a shaking hand to touch himself but Lalo pins his wrist back onto the bed. He breaks, whining in frustration. Lalo's answers with a breathless chuckle and his teeth sink in again, mingling with the ache between his legs. At the same time he finds it grounding, Lalo anchoring him even as he breaks him.

"I can't-" Nacho chokes, knee knocking into Lalo's shoulder as he writhes. Lalo coos at him, kissing the abused skin he sunk his teeth into. He pulls his fingers back to the last knuckle, hooking against the muscle of his rim and making Nacho clench.

"Can't what? Can't come like this?" He whispers, cruelly reverent.

"Touch me, f-fuck me, anything, man."

"That's what I like to hear, but I wanna see you come first."

Dread and excitement churn in Nacho's stomach, he groans and shifts, steeling himself. The fingers curl back in, stroking over the engorged gland and making him cry out again. He's never made this much noise in bed, never thought he could but Lalo coaxes them out of him with just two fingers. He kneels between Nacho's legs and watches intently, occasionally adjusting when he tries to squirm. 

"Lalo-" He gasps, feeling light-headed. The sheets stick to his back as he arcs, the valley of his spine soaked in hot sweat. He feels like he's leaking like a facet and it stings. But it's working; the heat builds until he's clawing at the sheets and there are tears on his eyelashes. Somewhere, distantly, Lalo is cooing encouragements but he can't make them out. The orgasm is ripped out of him and he makes a shocked noise, loud and high. Lalo's free hand grabs his thigh, holding it against his arm as he writhes.

"Look at that! That was beautiful," Lalo says breathlessly, gently easing the pressure and mouthing at his thigh softly. "Tan bueno para mi, Nachito." To Nacho horror, as he comes down he realises he came completely dry and is still hard, cock an angry red. He blinks at Lalo is shock, damp lashes sticking and Lalo smiles like he's proud. "Told you I'd get you to beg."

Nacho lays back, boneless and dazed. His legs get rearranged and pulled further in Lalo's lap as the man reaches for a condom. He stares at Lalo opening the corner with his teeth then realises what's happening. "You can't-"

Lalo's eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't pause rolling the condom on. His broad chest is heaving too, skin glistening with sweat, but he still seems calm it's infuriating. "I can, I will, you asked. You'll come this time, properly, with me inside you." Nacho stutters unable to find the words to protest, brain still leaking out his ears from the last orgasm.

There's no time to think about it as Lalo braces one hand by Nacho's head, guiding himself to where he's aching and open with the other. He's too worn out to flinch at the first touch of Lalo's cock, just grips the sheets again a little harder. The pressure is completely different to Lalo's fingers; so hot and unrelenting big as he pushes in. Nacho can't breath as more and more enters him, he shuts his eyes again and feels the tears finally escape.

"Stop, it's- it's too much," he chokes even as he bears down to take more. He grabs at Lalo's wrist next to him, nails digging into his pulse. Lalo doesn't answer, breathing unsteadily above him. Then suddenly his hips settle against Nacho's. He feels split wide open but full, too full all the way up to his throat.

"See, not so difficult, hm?" Lalo murmurs, nose brushing against Nacho's tenderly. He shivers and swallows, trying to breath carefully. His whole body is oversensitive, everywhere Lalo touches him stings but as he adjusts it starts to feel good. With a choked sigh more tears escape down his temple and he nods once as if he has any say in the matter. Still, Lalo only starts moving after the nod like he had been waiting and Nacho is thankful.

He doesn't take his time; pulling out and pushing in all in one smooth roll of his hips. Nacho keens, the air shoved right out his lungs as Lalo bottoms out again. It somehow feels incredible even as it overloads his senses, hitting that sensitive spot every few thrusts. Lalo latches onto his neck, moans muffled between them. His grips the back of Nacho's thigh, pushing it up, somehow helping him slide deeper.

When Lalo wraps his fingers around his cock, Nacho sobs. He hears him murmur words into his skin again, praises far too sweet for what he's doing to him. Tears roll down his cheeks unrelenting and he can't help wrapping his arms around Lalo's shoulders. Lalo makes a rough noise and jerks Nacho harder, urging him on and fucking him harder. He hardly realises he's about to come until it's happening and he's crying out, spilling over Lalo's hand.

"Fuck," Lalo moans and his thrusts becoming erratic until he stops buried deep. Nacho realises he's coming too, almost surprised by it. He feels Lalo shiver, sagging against Nacho a little. He's holding on to Lalo's back still, but he's sure if he lets go the tears that have stopped will start again. All that's left is the sound of their heavy breathing and the radio still on in the kitchen. The sweat starts to cool and it's uncomfortable but Nacho can't move. Then a hand touches his shoulder, warm and soothing.

"Ignacio. Time to let go." The tone of his voice breaks through the fog in Nacho's brain. A cold feeling seizes his heart. He let's go, a switch going off in his brain and jump starting his body into action. Distantly he feels Lalo's cock slip out of him with a sting and he feels sick, curling away as Lalo sits up. He rolls to the edge of the bed, groping at his vest on the floor. "You still want to eat?"

One of those hands touch his bicep- a few seconds ago soothing and now painful- and he shakes it off. 'This is your reward' echoes through his head. None of it had been real, he got lost in it and forgot. His hands shake as he swipes his vest over the mess on his stomach.

"Hey, woah, was it really that bad?" Lalo asks, half-joking, Nacho can't look at him but he can feel his sharp eyes on him.

"I have to go," he croaks, forgoing the ruined vest and tugging his shirt on, doing up a couple of buttons for modesty sake. The mattress shifts as he pulls his trousers on. Lalo is the kind of animal you need to have your eyes on at all times but he can't. It's a two way street when their eyes meet; he sees too much and right now Nacho is a raw nerve, an open book.

"You have to go," Lalo snorts. "Where?"

"I told Domingo I'd drop by sixth, check on things," he answer, struggling with his shoes. The silence from behind him is deafening. He stumbles a step when he stands, legs still weak. In the doorway he pauses, gripping the frame where Lalo had stood, hesitating. He glances at Lalo, naked and half covered by a sheet. If he were to look up he'd see a calculating, blank look on Lalo's face, he's certain of it. So he doesn't.

"I need to see the chicken farm. Tomorrow, 10am. I'll see you there," Lalo says. His tone is firm and makes Nacho want to turn back and beg for that playful tone back, the one that means he's safe. He nods in reply and leaves.

The temperature has dropped in one fell swoop that hits Nacho square in the chest as he closes the door behind him. He feels winded and gasps, trying to walk steadily to the red blur of his car. At the door he slaps a hand on the roof for support as he legs give for a moment, wrestling the door open to collapse into the seat. The lights remain on inside but there's no shadow of movement.

What had he been thinking? Nacho squeezes his eyes shut, seeing Lalo's boring back into his. There had been emotions there, beyond the betrayal and smugness, like in that moment Lalo hadn't entirely hated him. Wasn't just using him. It feels foolish, being hurt when he's just as guilty of manipulation. Just as Lalo is using him as a means to revenge (revenge he will inevitably take out on Nacho), Nacho is using him as a means to escape. Yet, it seem, they're both overestimating their ability to compartmentalize.

Nacho starts the car. He lost focus, but it comes back as the streetlights whip by, clarity in the cold dark. Chemicals, whatever, they make you think and feel things in the moment. That's all. There's a ghostly prickle of fingers on his neck, menacingly tender. He swallows and rubs the marred skin.

He drives home. The engine rumbles much to loud as he idles on the street outside before pulling in beside his father's truck. Light emanates from the living room, welcoming instead of alluring. No radio playing- just the hum of a television- no smell of cooking meat- just engine oil and home. Hesitantly, he steps up to the door and knocks. There's quiet for a moment then the porch light flickers on and makes Nacho wince.

"Papa?" He calls, cringing at the hoarseness of his voice. The lock scraps from it's place and the door opens, his father taking up the narrow space.

"Mijo?" The soft concern in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Nacho almost doubles over with the heave his takes and he hears the door rush open and a hand lands on his shoulder. "Are you hurt again?"

"No, no, I just need to see you," he straightens and sniffs, hoping no tears escaped. "I'm sorry."

"Ignacio, your neck," his father gasps, hand on his shoulder fluttering up. Nacho pulls his chin to the side, not wanting him to touch the marks. "Are you in trouble?" He asks in a resigned voice. Nacho almost laughs, feeling oddly hysterical.

"Aren't I always."

"My boy-" A warm, rough palm touches his face and Nacho closes his eyes. They were Vagra men, tenderness was reserved for the most dire moments- his mothers funeral, turning up full of bullet holes. Now. "-I hardly sleep, I worry so much. You said you'd get out. Ignacio, it's been a year."

"I know, I know," he takes a shuddering breath and looks up at his father's forlorn expression. "I'm close, Papa, but you have to help me. You have to be ready to leave, any day now I-"

"No-" His father shakes his head, hand falling from Nacho's face and he wants to weep. "-I told you before, I won't run. You go to the police."

"The police won't help," Nacho pleads. His father keeps shaking his head and the last of Nacho's restraint snaps. "I go to them, they come for you, don't you get it? The only reason I'm still in is because they'll kill you. And I-" Nacho chokes, the terror seizing his throat. There's real fear his father's face, no defiance, no shame. Nacho remembers it from his hazy memory of coming here when he was shot, of the look on his face as he'd put the phone down on 911. "It's my fault, all of it, but regretting it won't keep you alive. That's all I want."

"Ignacio..."

"Please, just... I know I'm a terrible son," Nacho closes his eyes. "You're ashamed you must be, but I can't let you die because you're too stubborn." Silence falls over them, the television distant and the hum of the streetlight nearby oddly loud.

"You get that from your mother." Nacho laughs in surprise and looks up. There's still so much sadness on his face, it's been there for years, but Nacho can see the understanding beneath it all and hope sparks anew.

"Yeah?" Nacho sniffs, wiping his sweaty upper lip. His father hums.

"I'll speak to Mateo." A neighbour boy a bit younger than Nacho who took his place when he left, learning everything about the shop from his father. (Nacho had been jealous and hurt when Domingo told him, mourning a life lost). Nacho sighs shakily and nods. "Do you... want to stay here tonight?"

"I can't," Nacho answers reluctantly. "I have some things to do." His father nods and steps back into the open doorway. Nacho turns to leave them stops, looking back at him. "There's a man, a gringo. His name is Michael. If he comes here do as he says, he'll take care of you if I'm... He'll make sure you're okay."

"I love you, Mijo," His father replies, voice strangled. Nacho looks away into the street, a lump in his throat too.

"Love you too, Papa," he replies quietly. He doesn't hear the door close until he's at his car door.

Behind the wheel he breaths deeply, watching the pieces slot into place behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously the whole convo between Nacho and his dad is in Spanish but I thought most ppl would prefer it in english rather than having to scroll down here to read the translation! Hope that's okay!
> 
> More to come!


	3. Breakfast For Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta-ed as always! enjoy!

They meet on the ridge, miles out from the chicken factory where the hot sun obscures the presence of spies at work. Nacho pulls up five minutes before ten, peering up at the rise where Lalo stands, proud and unafraid as a Salamanca can be. There's no other car around and Nacho curiously exits his, bringing the coffee with him. He pretends it isn't a weak attempt at a peace offer, to appease Lalo after his sudden disappearance last night. That's exactly what it is.

He hadn't slept. Feeling guilty, then feeling angry for feeling guilty. Lalo seems to have that effect on him, makes his emotions spiral until he can't see which was is up. Seeing his father had given him some clarity, something to anchor him in reality but there is still so much temptation...

"It's a hot one today, Nachito," Lalo calls breezily, as if every day isn't a hot one around here. He doesn't turn around as Nacho approaches, boots crunching on the stony earth, shielding his eyes with one hand. There a patch of sweat between his shoulder-blades like he's been stood here a while. Nacho comes to a stop beside him, already feeling the pressure of cloying heat, and anxiety.

He swallows and offers the coffee, which Lalo takes and sip. He still hasn't looked at him and Nacho's grates his teeth. "There's no car."

"Eh?" Suddenly he looks at him, like nothing's different, like it hadn't been deliberate to wait until now. Nacho wants to sink his teeth into his throat. "Oh, I had Domingo dropped me off." His eyes are bright with amusement and it takes a moment for Nacho to process the words. Now Domingo knows.

"You brought him in on this?" Nacho asks, attempting to sound casual and sipping his coffee too.

"Yeah, well, I need a little more man-power for what I have planned," Lalo replies, lifting the binoculars from where they were hanging around his neck. "Take a look." He doesn't take them off so Nacho has to lean in, shoulder to shoulder, to look through the lenses and watch the vans being unloaded. He wonders how many of them are loaded with packages of white powder. "I'm going to blow it up, Ignacio."

Nacho closes his eyes for a moment, then straightens and takes in the utter seriousness on Lalo's face.

"Can't just keep cuttin' off heads on the Hydra, gotta go for the chest-" He jabs his finger into Nacho's breastbone. "-Right in the heart. He'll be useless without this place, whatever he was building- that fuckin' south wall- it'll all come tumbling down and Eladio won't have any use for him anymore."

"H-how?" Nacho asks, blood pounding in his ears. This is too far, too fast, he's really is like the rest of them.

"With your help of course.," Lalo answer lightly, smiling like they're no discussing a suicide mission. "It'll be hard but you've done it before this is just, y'know, bigger. And with Fring gone, your father will be all safe, no?"

Yes, Nacho thinks, but with Fring gone (if I even survive it) my usefulness to you will have run it's coarse. I'm a dead man. Again. He looks back at the hazy view, the building seems to simmer in the heat.

"Right," Nacho finally mutters, blandly. "How do you want me to do it?"

"Hey, I'm the mastermind here, don't you worry about that yet," Lalo slaps a hand on Nacho's shoulder, making him flinch. He gives him a little shake before letting go but it feels like he's searing his print into Nacho's shoulder, hotter than the coffee in his sweating palm. After a minute of silence, Nacho glances at Lalo.

"So what now?"

"Don't you have the take today?"

"Domingo's taking care of it."

"Yeah, but you know Ocho Loco. He's got no bite, not like you," Lalo grins at him like it's some clever joke. "Go, supervise. Come back here later and pick me up. I've got everything I need." He taps his boot against the cooler on the ground.

Nacho lingers for a long moment, knowing he's going to do as he's told but not wanting to jump when Lalo says how high just because... Because...

He toss the last few mouthfuls of the coffee off to one-side into the dirt and leaves.

So, Lalo isn't angry or he's concealing it to wait and spring it on him later. He closes his eyes and for the first time lets himself think about the pleasant soreness of his body. Nacho can't tell what to expect anymore, the hands that choked the air out of his blend with the ones that caressed over his skin like he's something special. It shouldn't matter; both versions of Lalo want him on a suicide mission to blow up an equally sociopathic drug-dealer. He didn't tell Nacho when, if it's before the net pick-up his plan is screwed. As he drives he fumbles for his cellphone.

"Hello?" Michael's cool voice comes over the line.

"If anything happens to me, I need you to swear you'll take care of my dad," Nacho says, hearing how frantic he sounds.

"Vagra? What are you talking about? Has something happened? Lalo come for you?"

"No, I-" Nacho hesitates. "No but if he does, he'll come for him too. Just... make sure he gets out of here before that can happen, okay? You can have my money, just give him some to start over-"

"This isn't about money, kid."

"Will you do it?" Nacho asks angrily.

"I-"

Nacho shakes his head and repeats the question. "Will you do it?" There's silence on the line for a moment, then a deep sigh that sounds muffled like Michael's covered his face.

"Yeah. I'll do it."

Nacho pulls in front of the restaurant and hangs up, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. His heart is beating wildly as he goes inside, the air-con making goosebumps rise on his skin instantly. He passes a dealer in the doorway who steps aside respectful and nods before going out. Domingo sits where he used to sit, where Tuco had sat before them. The image doesn't fit, Domingo doesn't fill those boots even now he's 'Ocho Loco' he's too soft. He looks up from counting the wad of cash and smiles.

"Hey, Nacho, I didn't think-"

Nacho has a good head of steam and the power of his glare silence Domingo. As he storms by he jerks his head for Domingo to follow and he hears the chair scrap back behind him. He goes past the kitchen and stops outside the emergency exit, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Domingo stops in front of him, calm and curious, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Everything okay?" He asks cautiously.

"You know he's back," Nacho breaths, looking up at him. "You spoke to him?"

"Yeah. Dude almost gave me a heart-attack, was just sat waiting in my apartment," Domingo smiles like it's funny but it drops quickly. "What happened, man? You said he was dead."

"I thought he was," Nacho sighs and shifts restlessly. "Look, just- don't tell anyone-"

"Wasn't gonna-"

"And don't... Don't talk to him about me." He knows there are holes in his story, things that might not add up if he asks Domingo or others.

"You okay, Nacho?" Domingo asks, ducking his head a little. It's a gesture he's done since they were kids, when Nacho would get into fights and Domingo would back him up or after his mother died or the first day he came back after getting shot. It makes him seem like that young kid to Nacho still, it's why he's the only person other than his dad he wants to protect. Lalo has dragged him into the spiderweb.

"I'm okay, Mingo," he murmurs, standing up from the wall and patting Domingo's shoulder, squeezing his arm reassuringly. He hopes it's more comforting than when Lalo did it to him. "I'm saying be careful and don't visit my dad anymore, 'kay?" If he can get a little distance between them, when the Vagra's disappear hopefully no one will suspect Domingo helped them.

"Sure, you guys talkin' again?"

"Getting there." The bell above the door jangles as another dealer comes in. "C'mon, lets get back to work."

He sits at the table behind and leaves Domingo to it, ignoring the awkwardly polite greetings and farewells from dealers. The wads land in the leather bag with muffled thumps as the pile grows. Nacho stares at the floor and etches an outline of his body splayed out there as if the lino absorbed the frantic energy, marked it to torture Nacho alone. The squares of lights from the window elongate and stretch, sliding over the furniture and lighting up the dirty tips of his boots.

"-Ignacio?"

He looks up. Domingo stands next to him, head tilted and brow furrowed like he'd been speaking before and Nacho hadn't heard him. The bag of money is zipped up and hanging from his shoulder.

"We done?" Nacho croaks.

"Yeah, everyone came, everyone's square."

Nacho nods and stands, walking with Domingo outside. The sky is all colours that blanch into deep blue, Nacho had barely felt the time pass. He looks at the sky then at Domingo, squinting a little in the light.

"See you around," Nacho says, trying to sound casual but they don't usual do goodbyes. It mustn't work because Domingo makes a face and does a double-take before nodding and going to his van.

He drives back the way he came, windows down and wind whipping through his shirt. When he pulls up for the second time that day Lalo is still on ridge, now sat on a camping stool with the binoculars set up on a stand. He looks over his shoulder when Nacho gets out of the car, closing the notebook in his lap then standing. With a dramatic groan he stretches both arm overhead before picking up his gear and coming down the slop.

"Oy, time flies, how did it go?"

"Fine. Everyone delivered, plus extra."

"Excellent, pretty soon there'll be even more where that came from," Lalo says, opening the backseat door and tossing his equipment inside before getting in the front. Nacho gathers himself then gets in too, pressing the keys into the ignition. The car rumbles to life and Nacho looks at Lalo who's watching the ridge with a calculating look on his face, rubbing his thumb over his mustache. In the fading light he looks handsome, rugged profile catching the light in all the right ways.

"I can drive you home," Nacho offers cautiously, trying not to bite the inside of his cheek. Lalo breaks from his stupor and purses his lips, drumming the roof of the car.

"Let's have dinner," he says cheerfully.

"Where?"

"Yours," Lalo smiles at him. "C'mon, you've got such a nice kitchen." All the guys have been to his house before, for poker and drinks, but something about Lalo in his kitchen makes him seize up. "I'll cook for you," Lalo adds in a sing-song voice, leaning over the gearbox a little. It feels like more of a test than generosity, seeing how Nacho will react. 

"Amber and Jo-"

"They can join us! It'll be a little dinner party."

Nacho exhales slowly, twisting the rubber of the steering-wheel under his palm. Silently, he puts the car in gear and drives. Lalo starts talking about what he can cook for them, whether Jo and Amber eat much Mexican cuisine. Nacho resists telling him the most they can manage is a grilled cheese, and if not there's a draw of take out menus. He listens to him with half an ear, focused on trying to figure out exactly what Lalo has planned.

It has only been a couple of days since his return, since Lalo pinned him to the restaurant floor and...

Nacho shifts in his seat, face heating up at the memory. Did he want that again? Was this all just a lead up to another round? The bruises on his neck ache unhappily, throbbing in time to his slowly rising heart beat as they approach the house. 

Lalo leads the way inside like he owns the place, flicking on all the lights that usual stay off. The girls blearily sit up on their respective couches, looking between Lalo and Nacho. There's some infomercials playing on the flat-screen that Lalo glances at bemusedly.

"Hello, ladies!" They smile cautiously, waving. "Nacho invited me over for dinner, how do you feel about Huevos Racheros, breakfast for dinner? Yes? Excellent." 

Nacho clears his throat and they all look at him expectantly. "I'm, uh, going to shower. Amber can show you where everything is."

"Oh, sure, sure," Lalo waves his hand at him casually. "The ladies and I will get cookin', eh?" Jo stares at him like a lost, high puppy but Amber actually laughs a little, taking Lalo's offered arm and going into the kitchen with him. Nacho jerks his head after them, reassuring Jo she should follow. She gets to her feet unsteadily and goes after them. Noise echoes through the corridor- Lalo asking where a radio is- bringing the house to life. 

Nacho practically runs to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and pressing his forehead into it. There's nothing the girls know, he never tells them anything, but it still makes anxiety weigh on his chest. He strips and gets in the shower, letting the water sluice the fear-sweat off his skin. That quiet voice in the back of his mind calls out, reminding him of the I.D's in his safe, the stacks of money. His escape. It's tempting but it's too soon, he has to keep his patience.

"Ignacio?" Lalo's voice jerks him from his stupor- he hadn't locked the bedroom door and he hears Lalo come in. "Hey, nice bed. Oy, you really do like red... I'll pick something out for you, okay?"

He'd barely been under the stream for five minutes, but leaving Lalo unsupervised in his bedroom seems unwise. The man himself is standing in front of his rack of clothes, humming and pushing the hangers aside to look at each shirt. Nacho watches him, rooted to the spot until Lalo looks at him over his shoulder. He realises he's naked from the waist up and pretends it's the water dripping down his back that makes him shiver. 

"Here, I think this one will look nice-" Lalo holds out a shirt; red with black buttons and a maroon Aztec pattern. Nacho takes it and pulls it on over his damp chest. "-Red does suit you. "I liked dressing you in my clothes when we visited Eladio. Do you only own black jeans?" Lalo laughs and tosses him a pair. No underwear follows so Nacho grits his teeth and drops the towel. He ignores Lalo as he finishes dressing, but feels his eyes on him as he buttons the jeans.

"You left Amber and Jo alone in the kitchen?" He asks, hating how hoarse his voice sounds. 

"I did, but I left clear instructions. They seem more like children than girlfriends." 

Nach shrugs, eyes on Lalo's blue suede shoes. "They're company."

"I'll bet they are." The words are humorless, almost dangerous. 

"It isn't like that."

"How is it?" Lalo steps forward, hands casually in his pockets. Nacho looks up at him, seeking the humour in his dark eyes but finding none. 

"They're company," he repeats quietly. There's a tense moment of silence wherein Nacho feels utterly confused. Then Lalo grins like he got what he wanted. 

"Okay, Nachito. C'mon, lets see if they've set fire to anything." He slings his arm easily around Nacho's shoulders and guides him back to the kitchen. 

While Lalo teaches the girls how to make Huevos Racheros, Nacho sits at the counter and drinks. They follow his instructions, laughing along as he makes them dance to the radio he found on a shelf. Occasionally he gives Nacho bemused looks like they're sharing an inside joke. Every look gets under Nacho's skin. Even worse, every time he puts a hand on Amber's hip or leans over Jo to show her how to chop 'like a real chefe', it makes him tense.

When the food is served up he's a taut as a bowstring, Lalo looks at him like he knows and it makes it so much worse. The girls seem to have sobered while cooking and talk a little more animatedly. It occupies Lalo's attention enough to give Nacho a reprieve so he can gather himself. He'd drank a little more than he intended and the eggs in front of him swim on the plate a little. 

"That was really good, Mr. Salamanca, thank you," Jo says shyly through her last mouthful. 

"Oh please, Amber, call me Lalo. Now, could we leave you two to tidy up? Ignacio and I have some business to discuss."

They end up on the patio with the sunset hidden behind the fence but a sky of pinks and blues overhead. Lalo looks perfectly at home, slouched elegantly with a beer resting on his thigh. Nacho can't concentrate, feeling like one big knot has formed where his lungs should be. He picks at the label on his bottle which he doesn't drink, afraid it'll put him over the edge. 

"Tell me how it happened," Lalo says calmly. Nacho looks at him but he's staring at the skyline.

"It was... after the pick up," Nacho answers, the story he'd formed the morning after Lalo returned playing through his mind. "I went to my fathers to heal up. They came, Fring and his men, while he was at work. They told me they had eyes on him. Now I was the one in charge, I'd take my orders from him or they'd-"

He swallows, closing his eyes. The words, even made up, stick in Nacho's throat. He recalls Fring's cold gaze in the mirror of the car as his father sat in the cafe playing cards. This story was untrue but the threats were not. The fear is not.

"Okay, Nacho," Lalo says softly. Nacho breaths shakily, composure splitting at the seams. "Come here."

He looks at him, face cast in shadows but so calm and collected, Nacho can't look away. The beer bottle clinks as he sets it on the concrete and stands, stepping between Lalo's spread feet. 

"Kneel." 

It's dark inside, all the lights off apart for the soft glow of the television. The girls are probably knocked out in front of it, none the wiser, but Nacho still hesitates. A hand touches his thigh and he meets Lalo's steady gaze, knees buckling. He goes down, resting on his heels a sense of deja-vu coming over him. Lalo's hand brushes his arm briefly before he sits back. The knot in his chest is suffocating. 

"Have you ever given a man head before?"

The question makes Nacho exhale, a rush of excitement and fear hitting him. He has, hands and mouths he knows all too well but the idea of telling Lalo that, his reaction... This feels different anyway; those were back of the club, hidden in a bathroom-stall encounters, this is his home. So it doesn't feel entirely like a lie when he says, "no."

"That's okay, it's not what I'm asking you to do anyway. Here." Lalo unbuckles his belt and Nacho wonders if he'll develop a Pavlovian response to the sound. That train of thought is snuffed out when Lalo pulls the zipper down and pulls his dick out, soft and pale against the dark skin of his hand. "Put it in your mouth."

"That's-"

"No. You don't suck or fuck. Put your head in my lap and open your mouth. Shut your eyes if it makes it easier." The tone leaves no room for negotiation so Nacho shuffles forward and leans between Lalo's legs, cheek in the crease of his thigh. He closes his eyes as he settles, hesitantly parting his lips. After a moment warm skin touches his bottom lip and Nacho stops himself from making a noise. 

He opens his mouth wider as Lalo presses his soft cock inside. Saliva starts pooling under his tongue and he swallows awkwardly, the head rolling on his tongue. Lalo hisses above him but doesn't say anything just touches Nacho's cheek. For a while he's very conscious of his teeth and tongue, trying to find an angle that's easiest on his jaw. Then Lalo's stroke his head, stubble tingling in response and he relaxes. 

"Good, that's good," Lalo coos and Nacho feels his cheeks burn in response. He realises the knot is his chest has loosened. It's embarrassing how comforting it feels; the weight of him on his tongue, warm leg under his cheek. His back twinges so he carefully moves into a more comfortable position, shoulder settling between Lalo's knees and hands loose in his own lap. 

It's almost stifling hot now, but more like sinking into a hot bath than sweating under a midday sun: a soothing sensation. Nacho listens to Lalo sigh above him and take a swig of beer, hearing him swallow. That's the pattern for a while: Lalo drinks and pets Nacho's head. He can't tell how much time passes, stuck in a trance. Eventually Lalo speaks and it takes him a minute to register it. 

"Hey, you still with me?" 

The hand on the back of his neck tugs and Nacho sits back, letting Lalo's dick slip out. His jaw aches and there's drool on his cheek, a patch on Lalo's jeans too which makes him flush again. He rubs at his jaw, sleepily blinking at Lalo as he tucks himself away but leaves his belt undone. All the tension has leaked out of him, leaving behind a strange calm that makes him feel dazed. He shouldn't- he should be on guard but instead he's kneeling at the feet of this man. A man who doesn't know just how truly he's been betrayed. 

"You're a natural, Nachito." Something builds in Nacho's chest until it makes him choke and he realises there are tears on his cheek. He sobs and Lalo drags him forward, pressing his face into his chest and making soothing noises. Nacho curls his fingers into Lalo's shirt and cries another stain into Lalo's clothes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Nacho croaks, hating himself for saying it. Is it even the truth? He can't tell anymore, where the lies begin and he ends. 

"Okay," Lalo murmurs, lifting Nacho's head between his hands and pressing their foreheads together. "You did well."

"No," Nacho whimpers, 'you don't understand' he thinks. "No." Lalo tucks Nacho's face into his neck and holds on until his sobs begin to slow into ragged breaths. Embarrassment and shame coil inside him, that knot pulling itself taut once more. How can Lalo do this to him, every time? He knows one day he's going to break and tell him everything. That day can never come.

He sniffs and sits back, wiping his running nose with the back of his hand. Dampness clings to his eyelashes, it's starting to become a familiar sensation. Lalo looks at him intently, hand still resting on the side of Nacho's neck.

"Sorry," Nacho mumbles with a wet laugh that rings false.

"'Sokay, man-" Lalo shrugs. "-Shit like that, can be intense."

Nacho wipes at his face again, avoiding Lalo's eyes. "You- you do that a lot?"

Lalo tilts his head from side to side then smiles. "Sometimes."

"But you didn't...," Nacho glances down pointedly.

"Isn't always about that."

"Then what?"

"It's about control."

Nacho stares at him, aching jaw forgotten. Something like anger starts to eat away at whatever guilt he had been feeling. It was just about control; Lalo's power over him. A display to prove Nacho belongs on his knees for only one man, not Fring or Don Eladio: just Lalo. For a moment it had felt... like he cared or wanted...

His fingers dig into Lalo's jeans and then he jerks forward, mashing their mouths together. He remembers why he shouldn't want this, why it has to stop but he kisses Lalo furiously, forcing him back in his chair. Lalo gives as good as he gets, biting at Nacho's lip and dragging his shirt up to palm the curve of Nacho spine. When Nacho fumbles at his half closed jeans, Lalo pulls back.

"Do the kids sleep in your room?" He asks lowly.

"They're out in front of the tv."

Lalo scoffs. "You carry them to bed too? You wanted kids you could've got a nice respectable lady knocked up instead of adopting two crack-babies."

"They're-"

"Good company, yeah I've heard, c'mon." He grabs Nacho's hand and gets up, leading him back into the house.

Nerves catch up with Nacho in the bedroom, but the sparks are lit in his chest and anger wins out. By the bed he grabs at Lalo's sides, bringing him in to kiss again just as hungry as before. When he feels Lalo's hands trail down his back he shoves, sending Lalo sprawling onto the bed. He leans up on his forearms and there's a delighted smile on his face, full of anticipation.

He kneels over Lalo's lap, pushing him back down and biting at his mouth messily. Lalo chokes on a laugh then moans as Nacho pulls at his hair harshly, tipping his head back. Nach bites his throat, his own bruises throbbing sympathetically.

"Fuck, that's it," Lalo growls and Nacho bites harder. He wriggles a hand between them and shoves it into Lalo's jeans, finding him hard and still wet from his mouth. Even when he squeezes too hard and strokes to fast, Lalo keens like it's the best thing he's felt. Lalo tries to say something else but Nacho doesn't want to hear it, brings their lips together again to silence him. He doesn't stay quiet; moans and gasps into Nacho's mouth.

Nacho sits up, staring at the state of Lalo, disheveled and panting with his hand clenched in the sheets. He jerks him faster, watching Lalo arc and open his mouth in a breathless exclaim. "Ignacio-" He pushes two fingers into Lalo's mouth, pressing in. Without hesitating Lalo sucks on them desperately, tonguing at the knuckles like they're the best thing he's tasted. Nacho tastes blood in mouth realising he's bitten through his own cheek. Then Lalo's jaw drops around his fingers and he's coming over Nacho's.

It's exhilarating. Nacho feels a rush watching him give in, brought off by his touch. The words echo through his head; 'control' and he understands him a little better. Lalo blinks at him, smiling with Nacho fingers still in his mouth. Nacho kneels and shuffles up the bed until his knees are spread wide over Lalo's shoulders. He fumbles with his zipper and blindly reaches for the headboard, needing the support. He hesitates as he frees his aching cock, the haze of passionate anger subsiding a little.

Then Lalo presses at the backs of Nacho's thighs to leverage him closer. "Fuckin'- Nacho, give it to me," he hisses.

Nacho exhales shakily and watches his cock disappear into Lalo's mouth. The warm wet head makes him close his eyes and hide his face against his arm, muffling his moan. He bites the soft flesh of his arm as Lalo's tongue swirls against the underside of him as he slide in until he can't fit anymore. Lalo tightens his grip and hums as Nacho starts rocking in and out of his mouth in short thrusts, working up a pace. It's almost painful how fast the heat builds, Nacho holds onto Lalo's hair with his free hand, losing himself in using the mouth under him selfishly until he comes. He cries out into his arm, sparks flying up his spine.

He rides it out, distantly hearing Lalo choke, then stills. Slowly he uncurls his fingers from Lalo's hair and the bed board, almost expecting it to be cracked under his palm. He sits back, shivering as the open air touches his softening cock. Lalo coughs and blinks, eyes watering, but he looks pleased. Nacho lifts his shaking leg over and slumps against the headboard beside Lalo, breathing hard.

"I'm gay," he croaks into the silence. He looks down at Lalo who looks back at him with raised eyebrows. "When I come home I like to feel normal. I had that living with my dad and then after... I didn't like the quiet. They're company." They look at each other, Nacho tries to figure out what Lalo is thinking but sees nothing on his unreadable face. The man gives away nothing, the Salamanca's have solid poker faces.

"You wanted to feel normal... so you pay two crackheads with coke to live with you?" Lalo looks serious for a moment then cracks up, mouth splitting into a brilliant smile. Nacho can't help snorting. The tension cracks and they laugh until Lalo sits up, wheezing and wiping his eyes.

"I gotta use your shower, man, there's come on my chest and in my mustache." He smiles slyly at Nacho and gets off the bed, going to the bathroom. Nacho wipes a hand over his face and sighs, a small smile still on his face. It fades as he listens to the water run, at a lose. He ends up kicking off his trousers and finding some underwear. He stares at the safe where his tickets to a tenuous freedom hide. Lalo thinks he has Nacho entirely under his thumb but so did the other Salamanca's. This time, the issue is there's a dark and terrible piece of Nacho that wants to stay there.

When Lalo comes out he looks at him curiously and Nacho realises he'd zoned out. He clears his throat and nods to the clothes rack. "You can borrow a shirt."

"Red's not my colour."

Nacho scoffs. "Shut up, man." He watches Lalo go through the hangers until he finds Nacho's only green shirt.

"Jesus, you make a man feel self-conscious, Nachito," Lalo grumbles, buttoning the shirt that pulls just a little tight on his chest. "Eh, it'll do for the drive back."

For a moment, Nacho catches himself considering offering for Lalo to stay. Then he thinks of Amber or Jo seeing him there in the morning, or Lalo somehow cracking his safe in the middle of the night.

"I can drive you."

"Nah, you still got that van?" Lalo asks, pointing at him. Nacho nods. "I'll just take that. Less conspicuous."

They move through the house quietly, footsteps covered by the television still on in the living room. Nacho grabs two keys from the hook by the door and leads Lalo out, opening the garage door with one set. He drops the other into Lalo's waiting palm.

"Where do you pick up the coke?" Lalo asks, eyes trailing over the van's battered exterior.

Nacho swallows, heart-beat pounding in his ears. "Thursdays, after everyone's gone home. We meet in one of the bays where the drop the meat off. 'Round the side of the build."

Lalo hums and Nacho knows that's when he'll do it, when he'll want to blow the place to hell. Another complication. Then Lalo turns to Nacho and smiles breezily. "See you tomorrow, Nachito."

"See you," Nacho mutters, stepping back as Lalo gets in the van and starts her up. There's no lingering look or word between them; Lalo drives away with a little wave that Nacho returns halfheartedly. As the van disappears down the block, he's hit by how exhausted he is.

He quietly returns to his room-locking the door behind him- and goes to the safe, opening it with trembling fingers. From inside he pulls out the I.D's, and sits down against the wall with his knees drawn up. He stares at his father's face and his own until they blur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting compliccaatteddd...
> 
> thank u all for the lovely comments etc. they really help me write more!!!


	4. Calling His Bluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ubeta-ed as per! 
> 
> (extra warnings for anyone who needs them for mild drug use, rough sex under the influence, and vomiting!)

Nacho gazes into the mirror, watching drops of water run down his scalp and temple. Through the doorway behind him his black duffel bag is packed, everything from the safe hidden inside. Two more days. Well, it's 4 a.m so almost two. He exhales slowly, splashing another hand full of cold water over his face and the back of his neck. There's the muffled sound of some soap on the television coming through the walls, he'd left Amber and Jo half-asleep watching it. They'd partied a little- drank and danced in the living room- Jo was delighted when he agreed to join in for once. It seemed like the best kind of goodbye he could give them. 

Whatever the tab was that Amber had insisted putting on his tongue is making all the lights bright and his heart pound even hours after swallowing it down. The girls are coming down their usual way, sleeping and then a grilled cheese when they wake up. Nacho doesn't know what to do, he doesn't do this often. A good time for him is poker with the men, dinner at his fathers, nervously drinking one beer before following some guy to bathroom... 

If he lives, things will be different. He'll... be different, do something else, won't be scared anymore. But he'll still have dinner with his dad. Nacho promises himself that as he stares into his pupils, frighteningly wide and deeper than he imagined. The black seems to throb with his heartbeat and it scares him so much he has to look away at his dripping wet hands. There's too much running through his head, he needs to calm down. 

He can feel the colour of his bruises, the purple a little louder than the yellows. They're healing slowly and he hopes they'll be gone by the time he leaves here. If he can even make it until then. Lalo. Insane, murderous, brilliant Lalo. Who the fuck goes from 'bidding time to bring Fring down, piece by piece' to 'lets blow up his whole operation'? And it's Nacho's fault.

He breaks a mug while he's making coffee, dizzy with booze and realisation. All this came from him, his choices, Lalo believes Fring is the source of all his woes and maybe he is but Nacho is the linchpin. How was he supposed to know it would all come to this?

The patio door slides shut behind him and blocks out all the background noise that had been clouding his head. With his cup of coffee he takes Lalo's seat that had been his in the first place. Something about that thing Lalo had done to him here makes it easier to think, like his head gets quiet. He sips his coffee and stares at the red sunrise, watching it drip over the rooftops and onto his patio.

In two days he'll drive to the chicken factory armed with explosives and somehow, someway, blow the place up. He should've guessed this would be the plan, something involving violence and flame is Lalo's signature move. Somewhere in there, before he's in too deep, he has to disappear. He had considered picking up the coke anyway and just taking it for himself as a back-up plan, if they ever needed quick money in the future. But he saw his father's disappointed face in his mind and knew it wouldn't just be Fring and Lalo trying to get him if he did. They'll manage, he's saved enough. 

He closes his eyes and holds the mug between his hands, warmth spreading through his fingers, syrupy. Lalo hasn't spoken to him in a day, off with Domingo making plans he can't be privy to. Broken trust and betrayal has left him a dog in a kennel waiting to be beckoned by his master. It's the not knowing that is making him crazy, crawling out of his skin with anticipation. His cell starts ringing. He takes it out and stares at Lalo's name swimming on the screen, did he summon him? 

"Hello?" He answers, pointlessly wishing it won't be Lalo on the other end.

"Nachito, you sound awfully awake for 5 a.m."

His voice makes knots of Nacho's insides. "I... haven't slept," Nacho replies, looking around like Lalo might be hiding around the corner. 

"Ooh, up all night partying?" 

"There was a- a Seinfeld marathon the girls wanted to watch-" It had been on the big screen while they were on their third round of truth or dare- he'd ended up kissing them like five times for dares (either from the girls lack of imagination or to see if he'd take advantage).

"Seinfeld? Seriously?" Lalo sounds genuinely surprised then snorts. "Whatever, man, just- come over."

Nacho closes his eyes because the fence has started melting underneath the red sky. Apparently the coffee isn't helping much. "I don't think I can..."

"You aren't home?"

"I am."

"A-nd you have your car keys, no?"

"I do," Nacho sighs.

"So come on over. I'm bored and you should fuck me."

Nacho looks at the screen of his phone then at the concrete under his sock. "Because you're bored?" That dark and dangerous thing is coiling up his spine, conjuring Lalo under him with his mouth stuff full and looking blissed out. He assumed Lalo is the type to fuck not get fucked but...

"Yeah. Y'know I think better at nigh but I also think better after sex too... Are you in your car?"

"I'm not wearing any shoes," Nacho says dumbly, wishing he'd level out on this shit already so he could think beyond the capacity of a fifth grader. 

"Put some on, or don't, and pick up your car keys and come here, Ignacio," Lalo murmurs dangerously. Nacho can feel himself getting hard just from that tone.

"Okay."

He stops by his bedroom first and takes the duffel with him as he leaves, putting it in the trunk. There's a place on the way to Lalo's, an abandoned lot where he had once met up with Michael. Naho had passed it a few weeks back and knew it'd be the a good place to keep in mind. Now it's exactly what he needs- a five minute detour so Nacho doesn't think it'll be suspicious.

In the dawn light he pulls into the lot beneath the shrinking shadows of the bare bone's of long derelict factor, steel beams brown and moss covered. From the trunk he takes the duffel and the shovel he's had there since burying the driver in the desert a lifetime ago. He kneels in the dirt, feeling the urgency to get this done fast, lifting enough earth to fit the bag inside. He buries it and tosses the shovel, breathing heavily and feeling like his head is floating. There's a bottle of water in the back, he uses it to clean his hands and jeans before driving the rest of the way to Lalo's, feeling a little calmer. 

He speeds the last few miles and pulls up sharply by the curb. Someone else is controlling his body as he jogs up the path to the front door and walks right in. The last effects of the drugs are starting to wear off from the combination of adrenaline and exertion but he still feels tilted. He stands in the living room breathing a little heavily then Lalo appears from the back of the house, wrapped in a dressing gown. There are damp grey curls across his forehead, he must've been showering.

"Nacho... the door's open." Behind him the cool morning air wafts in and raises goose-bumps on his bare forearms. Even standing across the room he can see them on Lalo too or maybe it's his currently over-active imagination. 

"Oh." He drifts over and closes it, and suddenly Lalo is in front of him with a curious look on his face. 

"Are you on something?"

"I said I shouldn't drive," Nacho mumbles, passively letting Lalo tilt his chin up. "Amber gave me something."

Lalo hums noncommittally then looks him in the eyes, still holding Nacho by his chin. "And how high are you right now?" It's not goose-bumps but Lalo's skin is definitely shimmering, like hot oil. Nacho wants to touch him just to see if it'll burn.

"I'm coming down," Naho murmurs and realises he is touching Lalo without noticing, fingers clumsily running up Lalo's throat. "Your skin..."

"What about it?" Lalo asks sounding amused and unsure at the same time, it surprises Nacho how he tips his chin to let him run his palm up his carotid. Their pulses wrap around each other and Nacho leans in and presses his face against it. That is even better and he sighs, feeling the calmest he's felt since he swallowed that pill. He drags his hands down Lalo's dressing gown and unties the knot wanting to feel more of it. Thankfully, Lalo is naked underneath. It's like stepping out of the shade and into the sun, bursting behind his eyes as his palms touch Lalo's warm skin.

He feels more than hears Lalo chuckle. "You don't get high much," he says and Nacho shakes his head as much as he can buried in Lalo's neck. They're pressed together shoulder to thigh but it still doesn't feel enough to Nacho. He pulls away to fumble his shirt over his head and toss it aside, then plasters himself against Lalo again. The sensation is even Better and he moans. He realises he's hard but so is Lalo so it doesn't see like a problem. He hears Lalo hum, feels him touch his bare back and it lights a fire under his skin.

"Nachito-" Lalo chokes as Nacho gravitates to the hot line of his cock. That dark, hungry thing swirls in close like a circling shark. In a few days Lalo might kill him- or maybe he'll even kill Lalo- but right now he's glowing with lust and Nacho likes the meeting point of those two facts. They make him feel alive. 

"What?" He lifts his head to look at Lalo's slack expression as he squeezes far to hard around him, head beneath his pinkie drooling against his wrist. "What, Lalito?" 

"You'll fuck me won't you, Ignacio?" Lalo whispers, a completely false quiver in his voice, playing along with whatever this is. "Por Favor." Nacho growls and lunges into a kiss, all teeth and bite that Lalo returns eagerly. They stagger around, shedding clothes on a path toward the bedroom. There's a bizarre feeling of triumphant in Nacho, like he's winning something or has won.

When they reach the bed he shoves Lalo down and watches him sprawl up the bed, eyes wide and dark. His broad chest heaves in time with Nacho's and he clenches his hands in the sheets. Nacho takes his time to look at the slope of his shoulders, dark hair on his chest with grey flecks in it, long legs and tone thighs. He wonders just how many people have seen him like this and how many of them have betrayed him afterward. Maybe, Nacho wonders, maybe he'll be the first to get away with it.

"Turn over," he says hoarsely and Lalo's eyes light up. Returning to his character, Lalo bits his lip and twists at the hip in a slinky turn onto his stomach. The muscles in his shoulder shift as he raises his folds his arms, laying his head on them and peering back at Nacho slyly. Nacho runs his palm up Lalo's thigh, kneeling on the bed between them to continue the path up to his ass and squeezing. Lalo moans theatrically, smugness radiating from him so Nacho leans down and bites.

"H- ah!" Lalo gasps with real shock, planting a hand on the bed and trying to raise a knee. Nacho grabs his hips and pushes him back down, easing up to kiss the indented skin. If he wanted Nacho to stop he could with ease, all of this is for show. Lalo hums and spreads his legs a little more for Nacho's thumb to run up between his cheeks and press. He draws back when his thumb slips in with ease.

"Got a head start in the shower," Lalo says over his shoulder. "You took too long." Nacho feels cheated, picturing him under the water with his knee up, hands behind his back. He presses his thumb in and out, feeling the clutch of Lalo's body every time. The bite mark is angry pink and none of it feels like enough again. He adjusts his knees and spreads Lalo's cheek and dives in. Lalo yells, thrusting back against his tongue as he curls it inside of him and tastes lube and musk. Nacho eats him out mindlessly, letting Lalo squirm greedily. His warm hand clutches at the back of Nacho's head, nails scratching his scalp and he lets himself groan.

"Oh, Ignacio- oh," Lalo moans breathlessly, hardly sounding like himself as he grinds between his mouth and the sheets. Nacho sits up and Lalo whines at the lose, rising onto his knees slightly. "No, please." An impression of submissive desperation, still playing pretend, it makes Nacho want to push. He rises up over him, holding Lalo's wrist down next to his head and leaning close.

"What if I go in raw would you be so desperate then, Lalito?" He asks, real anger making his voice tremble. Beneath him Lalo rises enough to press his ass against Nacho's aching cock.

"Anything for you, Ignacio," he answer airily, fluttering his eyelashes at Nacho sweetly. Calling his bluff, Nacho reaches back and presses the head of his cock against his hole. They stare at each other, breathing heavily, on the precipice.

"Do it," Lalo growls, façade falling, eyes on fire. "Do it or I'll show you how it's done, Nacho-"

He pushes in.

Lalo's hand slaps against his thigh, digging in as Nacho slides home in one unbearable, hot thrust. It's not dry, Lalo worked himself open good, but there's a hint of friction that makes Nacho shudder. He presses his forehead against Lalo's neck and palms Lalo's side from ribs to hip, sweat making his palm slip. Everywhere they touch it's burning hot and they're touching practically everywhere.

After a moment to adjust, Lalo curves his spine like a cat. "Oy, Ignacio, se siente tan bien," he simpers, infuriatingly steady. Nacho sinks his teeth into the meat of Lalo's shoulder, pining Lalo's hips and grinding hard. Lalo jerks and bucks, scratching Nacho's thigh hard. "You wanna hurt me, Nacho?" He asks in a voice more like him own.

"I want you to stop pretending," Nacho hisses, blood in his mouth. There's blood on his thigh too that Lalo smears under his palm.

"I'll only stop when you stop."

He takes a fistful of Lalo's hair and rolls his hips, watching the profile of Lalo's face contort and doing it again and again. Nacho recognises the pained pleasure look on his face, it's one he's worn right here on this bed when Lalo was the one on top of him. He falters. He doesn't want to be like Lalo. What came over him? He kneels up, looking down at Lalo's glistening back and the bite marks he's left. Bile rises in his throat. He didn't realise just how far out of his body he'd been until now.

"Come on, Dios," Lalo mutters under his breath actually looking wrecked. That's what Nacho has been looking for, he doesn't need to hurt Lalo to ruin him. It's about control, he remembers. He retakes his grip on Lalo's hip, and another on his ribs, then pulls out and pushes back in in one languid stroke. Lalo's ribs rise under his fingers in a shuddering breath. "That's it- that. Is it. So good, Nacho." He finally sounds earnest and Naho flushes with the praise.

It's a steady pace- hard and deep, but slow. Both of them are plastered in sweat and shaking. Lalo tries to reach under himself but Nacho catches his hand, pinning his wrist overhead. He watches Lalo shudder, watches him resist and then give in to letting Nacho make him come on his cock alone. It draws it out exquisitely, Nacho is so focused on Lalo's builds up that he doesn't notice his own. Lalo squirms and shivers and meets each thrust, making unhappy noises and then delighted moans. Then he clenches so hard Nacho can't breath for a moment and closes his eyes to listen to the drawn out cry Lalo makes as he comes.

Nacho feels lightheaded, too many chemicals on the brain and his spine liquefying like molten lava. They're both making noise- Lalo's encouraging, Nacho's pained- accompanied by the animal slap of skin. Lalo keeps moving with him, one hand brace on the headboard for leverage to shove back onto Nacho.

"So good, Nacho," Lalo slurs, looking back at him with wild curls in his eyes and a slack-jaw. He actually looks out of it, into it, out of his mind. It catches Nacho off guard and he comes. He closes his eyes and shudders, hiding his face against Lalo's spine as he gasps. Lalo groans and slumps, catching himself on his elbows and half sat in Nacho's lap.

Nacho's head is swimming. A wave of nausea hit him and he clumsily pulls, crawling to the edge of the bed and staggering to his feet. As soon as his knees meet the bathroom floor he's sick. It's actually a relief, getting rid of whatever remnants of booze and drug where left. His head feels clearer as he spits into the bowl and flushes the toilet. There are tears in his eyes and his nose is running like he's been crying.

"What the hell did they give you?" Lalo asks from the doorway. Nacho sniffs and wipes his face before looking at him. He's naked with his arms folded over his chest, but Nacho is drawn to the hard look on his face. He actually seems concerned, or angry but those seem to come hand in hand.

"I don't know," Nacho croaks, sniffing again. When he tries to stand up he almost falls back down but Lalo catches him under arm.

"You need to sleep," Lalo says and Nacho closes his eyes, wondering why his voice sounds so empty. Without arguing- what would be the point?- he lets Lalo guide him back to the bed. He doesn't realises he's shivering until Lalo squeezes the back of his neck and shushes him. The shivers subside a little under his firm grip like Lalo is anchoring him, stopping him from shaking apart. "Esta bien... Ve a dormir."

He drifts off and sinks into a dreamless sleep completely weighed down by exhaustion, he understands why the girls sleep so much now.

When he wakes up it's a slow drift from sleep to consciousness, blearily running his hands over the silk sheets and wondering why he smells like coffee. Then he jerks up, hearing voices and realising exactly where he is. Two men are quietly talking in the living room and Nacho scrubs a hand over his face knowing there's no hiding exactly what went down here. He wobbles on his feet as gets up and dresses, straining his ears to hear what's being discussed.

He walks down the corridor carefully, close to the wall and pauses when he realises who the other voice is. Domingo. Nacho clenches his teeth and closes his eyes, shame and fear washing over him.

"Nacho? Is that you?" Lalo calls playfully. Nacho schools his expression and steps into the room, avoiding looking at Domingo. "Why are you lurking in the corridor? Come, join us." Lalo pats the couch seat next to him so Nacho sits there, back ramrod straight. "You slept a long time, we were getting worried." He glares at him own hands balled up on his knees before carefully looking up at Domingo. Even though the rest of his face is carefully blank, Domingo's eyes are wide with obvious shock. That sinking feeling is coming back and Nacho drops his gaze, swallowing.

Lalo grins knowingly at Nacho for a moment then pats his shoulders. "Coffee?" Nacho shakes his head and Domingo softly whispers 'no thank you'. "Well, okay then-" Lalo claps his hands together and uncrosses his legs, sitting forward. "-Down to business! Nacho, as I'm sure you've guessed Domingo is aware of the plan for Sunday. Domingo has been kind enough to gather the necessary tools from my contacts across the boarder."

Domingo nods and watches Lalo touch Nacho's knee. "Now, the important part. This is a two man job so Domingo will be joining you on Sunday."

Nacho's heart seizes uncomfortably and he digs his fingers into his jeans. "Fring's men will find that suspicious."

"Sure, if they see him," Lalo replies, smiling at him condescendingly. "Domingo will hide in the trunk, all you have to do is leave the car unlocked and occupy the men inside long enough for him to place the explosives where they need to be. Here-" Lalo reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a key ring with a crude sombrero dangling on the end. It looks like something a tourist would by from a shitty gift shop in Mexico City but then Lalo explains. "-This has a radio in it, it'll knock out the cameras in the parking lot if you leave it nearby. That was Domingo has a few extra minutes to do his job."

"Cool, right?" He adds with a big grin, shaking the key ring at Nacho who takes it numbly. Domingo smiles awkwardly and nods when Lalo looks to him. Nacho runs his thumb over the shiny plastic, trying to think clearly, think of anything to say. There's a pressure building in his chest, horrible and tight and he can't tell if he's going to suffocate or explode. He stands up and the other two men look at him.

"Is that everything?" He croaks, occupying his gaze with slipping the ring onto his car-keys.

"Well sure," Lalo says incredulously then his hand touches Nacho's leg. "But you're not going anywhere." Nacho freezes, looking down at Lalo's expectant face. He can practically hear Domingo holding his breath.

"Amber is expecting-"

"I think the girls can make it a couple of nights without you baby-ing them, hm?" Lalo says playfully, but his fingers squeeze Nacho's leg before reaching up and plucks the keys, the last means of escape, from his hand. "Domingo's staying too so it's a sleepover. Right, Ocho Loco?"

Lalo looks at him and Domingo nods. "Right."

Nacho breath catches. "Okay," he manages and watches the delight spread on Lalo's face. The man stands and rubs his palms together.

"Great, I'll start dinner!" He passes Nacho and touches his hip in a firm possessive grasp. "C'mon, Nacho, it'll be fun."

Lalo goes into the kitchen and the radio comes on, loud obnoxious music blaring that he seems to instantly know the words to. Nacho feels numb all over, cold dread constricting his heart. He looks at Domingo finally and finds him staring back with a wide-frightened eyes so many questions swimming in the depths of them. Nacho wonders how much of the same fear shows on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i only watch this show for nacho.
> 
> there will be more, im making it up as i go, pls b kind...


End file.
